Eden at Last
by Sunburned-Stickperson
Summary: Desmond's always been cursed, as his mother and grandmother were before him. However, a crackpot whim to try Shaun's suggestion might just save his life-and introduce a whole new world at the same time.
1. Give It a Try

Desmond slid in beside Shaun, noticing the finger to the lips his only pal made at the pastor. The man continued with his sermon flawlessly, preaching to the other teens there as they sat in the back row. He halfheartedly listened, moreover frustrated at everything happening. He was out of options now, having tried shrinks, medicines, mediums, and anything else that he could afford. He was on his last legs, tired of not sleeping, of having this bad luck curse. Shaun had almost crashed his car swerving to avoid a deer, almost gotten plowed over by a semi that had barreled through the intersection, and busted a tire rolling into the parking lot. Of course, this was on top of having lost his brand new phone. And shit like this happened daily.

He had been abused by his mother, taken away from his father, sent to some of the worst foster care homes, been attacked multiple times at the bar, almost got busted for being only eighteen, and had multiple glasses explode on him. He had gotten blamed for missing alcohol, broken toys, even the apartment fire he had gotten trapped in.

At this point, an omnipotent ruler of the cosmos seemed to be his last chance.

He was amazed that Shaun had kept quiet the whole time, and when the pastor asked for prayer requests, his pal stood up at the end. The pastor had been looking at him, as if he knew he was going to rise.

"I have one."

"Why don't you come up here, then, Shaun?"

He shrunk back as his friend rose and paced to the front of the sanctuary, almost looking nervous as he stood beside the pastor.

"I-I know that I haven't spoken much, if at all, in the course of this year—"

"No way, Limey's gotta voice!" one of the kids called out, and Shaun glared at him.

"—but I have been listening. And… I heard that you lot all struggle with your faith."

Shaun was quiet for just a moment, pursing his lips and thinking through whatever he was going to say next. Desmond was still trying to get over the fact that Shaun had been quiet.

"And, I know that God will probably be a little mad, but I got to thinking, and I think that this would be, undoubtedly, the best way to resolve this issue of so little faith."

"And that is…" one of the girls began.

Shaun gestured for him to come up, and he pulled his hood over his head to cover himself as he shook his head. After a little bit of coaxing, he was lured up to the front. He pulled his hood down and flinched at the gasps and the whispers. He slunk behind Shaun when one of them hollered at him.

"If…" Shaun seemed to hesitate for a minute before continuing. "If God is truly powerful, then surely he can do something like lift the curse off Desmond."

There was silence for a moment.

"I be down wit dat," he heard a black kid say.

"Yeah, I'll agree to that," he heard a young girl say. "Anyone who can lift that curse off him has got to be worth believing in."

A murmur of agreement spread through the crowd, and he couldn't help but stare at them in wide-eyed wonder.

"But, that means you'll have to pray for him."

"I think we can do that," the older man said, stepping forward again and smiling warmly at him before turning to the crowd. "Why don't all of you extend a hand toward him?"

Desmond watched as he saw a group of hands reach toward him, and a hand slip into his own as the pastor placed his hands on his shoulders. Shaun offered him a small smile, looking almost happy that he had finally caved into the boy's requests to try faith in God.

And as he closed his eyes to pray, his heart beating quick as he listened for a moment before his thoughts when off on a tangent, he found himself wondering silently if he was even worth God's time, and if the "big man upstairs" would actually be kind enough to help him. He was nervous that he wasn't going to meet up to the Christian standards that Shaun had talked about once. Still, he could feel something inside of him be calmed, almost as if he had no choice, and he couldn't help but exhale gently, allowing himself to smile as he fidgeted.

And as the pastor finished praying, Desmond winced when the lights went out for a moment. He expected to be blamed for that, too, but nothing was ever said as the kids watched curiously. He shrunk down, pulling Shaun back to their pew in the sanctuary as the pastor wrapped up with some announcements. He jumped when he accidentally sat on a Bible and frowned as he picked it up.

The first verse he saw would be burned into his mind, and it reaffirmed that, yes, God was real and Shaun was right, and that he officially was on the right team:

"Isaiah thirty-five four," he murmured, his head tilted as he read it quietly to himself. He didn't feel the pastor's eyes watching him, or Shaun staring at him as if he had lost his mind. He didn't notice the lighter aura that seemed to wrap him up, or the weight that seemed to be lifted from his shoulders. "Say to those with fearful hearts, 'Be strong, do not fear; your God will come, he will come with vengeance; with divine retribution he will come to save you."

And for the first time in years, he felt a huge grin creep onto his face.


	2. It's a War

He was even more surprised to find that when they walked into the parking lot, the storm was done, and there was a burly man with a large white truck fixing Shaun's flat. He blinked, staring, and Shaun was over there immediately, about ready to spew fire before the man told him he was fixing it. He clutched the Bible in his hands tighter, having talked with the pastor afterward. The man had been pleased to make his acquaintance, and that, apparently, he had been praying for him since he first heard about his curse. The man had just given the Bible from the pews, telling him to take it home, and he even slipped in a business card for him, in case he had questions. The other kids in the youth group were watching, and he could hear some of their conversations.

"Dude, what's going on?"

"Ya think it's the curse?"

"Curse? How? The dude's fixing the car. The flat's probably from Miles."

"Desmond!" He looked to see Shaun with a hand cupped around his mouth and waving his new phone around, and his eyes grew wide. "He found your phone!"

He took a step forward before he found himself running over as if he were in slow motion, and when he reached his best friend, he hesitantly took the phone.

"It still works?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. I stopped 'cause a cat was sitting there, and it jumped into my truck when I picked up the phone."

Before Desmond could even peek curiously at the man's truck, he jumped when he saw a cat on Shaun's trunk. It was a light grayish-blue, with big, serious golden eyes. He blinked, and it blinked back at him. With his luck, it was probably going to jump at him and give him rabies. He jerked when he swore that he saw the cat shake its head. He pursed his lips and tilted his head, reaching out slowly to touch the animal.

"Desmond, you are not taking this cat in the car. I don't care if it attaches itself to the bottom, you are not taking it in."

He jumped back when it butted against his hand and stared at it wide-eyed, a little miffed he wasn't bleeding or scratched. The cat was giving him an unamused look. He looked over to Shaun as if he held the answer to why he wasn't dead yet from a vicious strange cat, but Shaun was busy thanking the man for his help. Desmond rubbed his hand over the spot the cat butted against him, and he found his eyes trailing back toward the cat. It was staring at him, studying him. He reached for it again, tensing when it met his hand. He was paralyzed when the cat's paw swung up and wrapped around his wrist, rubbing its cheek against his fingers.

"Sh-Shaun…" he managed to squeak, still terrified that it was going to eat him. After all, there was nothing to say it wasn't going to go seriously wrong as it had all his life.

His friend turned to look at him, and he watched him take in the scene before he started laughing.

"Desmond, it just wants attention. Pet the damn animal."

He looked back at the cat, one paw still slung over his wrist and the fluffy cheek pressed to his fingers. With a swallow, he tentatively moved his fingers, flinching when it immediately started pressing against the touch. He felt it pat his wrist, and he started a scratching motion. The cat seemed happy enough, rubbing its head as he kept scratching it, and a small smile slowly crept onto his face, still cautious enough to be fully expecting an attack. When Shaun finally announced that they had to leave, the cat hopped down and padded off, leaving him in wonder as he climbed into the car.

"Thank God that cat left. I will not be having a cat in my car."

Desmond watched it curiously as it disappeared behind a tree before leaning back and looking at his phone.

"I can't believe it was returned to me. I thought for sure it was gone for good."

He wanted the cat back.

"I must admit. I am rather surprised someone bothered to return it—_and_ fix my flat tire for free."

Desmond flipped open the phone, seeing the only picture on his phone—one of him grinning with an arm around Shaun's shoulders as his friend rolled his eyes.

"You know that picture makes you seem utterly gay."

"Says the European," Desmond murmured, closing his phone gently and tucking it into his sweater pocket. "Besides," he lowered his voice, "you're really the only person who talks to me or has ever let me consider him a friend."

Shaun said nothing more, and Desmond found his thoughts wandering back to the youth group and the Bible verse. He smiled again as he nestled down in his seat, looking at Shaun, who was glancing over at him.

"Thanks," he said, looking back out at the road and feeling, actually, rather safe for once. "Thanks."

"It's not me that you should be thanking. Try thanking God. He is, after all, the one who saved your miserable arse on the way over here."

He blinked and looked at Shaun, who gave him a serious look, and he looked out his window. Slowly, his eyes found their way up to the night sky, and he found himself mentally thanking that mysterious power that had eluded him for so long. He was grateful, and if tonight after youth group was any indication of what life would be like with God's help, he would be more than happy to keep singing his praises. He had thought he was doomed to be cursed all his life, and he actually had his phone back, and he hadn't gotten bitten by the wild cat.

Perhaps he could actually start saving up for a motorcycle and not have to worry about dying. Of course, it was only a brief flash of good luck, but it was still a brief flash more than what he had before.

He hummed quietly, one of the hymns he vaguely remembered hearing the other kids sing, and pulled his phone back out, toying around with it as he found himself thanking God again that it was still in one piece and still functioning. Shaun parked at his apartment complex and offered to spend the night. He nodded, thanking him again for taking him to the youth meeting, and led him up to his apartment. Shaun rolled his eyes and told him he was a pussy as he slid the key in, getting it right on the first try, and he pushed the door open.

Only to see the cat from earlier push through his legs and pad into the room, making itself right at home on his couch.

He paused, blinking. He didn't remember the cat in the building, and surely the manager down front would have noticed a cat walking in.

"Where did _that_ come from?" he heard Shaun mutter, and he looked over his shoulder at him.

"I don't know. I don't see how _I_ got passed the grouch king downstairs if I had a cat follow me."

The cat looked at him from its curled up spot, sunken into the well-loved couch he had managed to scrounge up after a lot of sleeping on the floor. He paced in, letting Shaun in, and shut the door.

"That's kinda spooky," Shaun murmured, staring at the cat who was staring at them.

Desmond shrugged, walking over and risking a bite to pet it. Its tail twitched, and it even rolled over to let him pet its stomach as he laughed.

"Look, Shaun!"

He noticed the concerned look of his friend's fade into something a bit softer, and Shaun nodded.

"Looks like you've got more than one friend, Desmond."

Desmond grinned. "You really think so?"

"I do."

He looked at the cat, who was watching him as he petted its stomach, and he smiled.

"I do have another friend. I wonder what his name is?"

"You're supposed to name the cat, Desmond."

Desmond pursed his lips, staring at it, and he shook his head. "I don't think so. I'll just call it buddy for now."

"Buddy?" Shaun asked incredulously. "I always knew you were incredibly creative."

He stuck his tongue out. "Hey, maybe it's God telling me that I'm not alone anymore."

Shaun smirked. "You would."

He grinned, rising. "I did. Now, let's test my good luck and see if I can't cook for you."

"Are you sure you want to do that, Desmond?"

"Don't you remember those meals I would make you? You always said they were good. Besides, I've got at least a little luck now."

Shaun snorted. "Don't push it."

He laughs. "I'll push it for all it's worth. There's no telling when it's going to go away."

Shaun pursed his lips. "However true as that may be. We should probably proceed with caution, though, for when it does wear off."

Desmond paced into the kitchen, feeling Shaun behind him. He almost hoped the cat would follow him into the kitchen, and he would have a new constant companion.

He froze when the butcher knife went whizzing by his ear, followed by a crash as the whole three sets of silverware he had when tumbling to the floor from the drain board. He blinked, and he jumped out of the way as he felt something rush passed him, and he swallowed. Yeah. Okay. He was still definitely cursed. He remained frozen in his spot, trembling as he looked around cautiously.

"M-maybe you-you are st-still cursed," he heard Shaun whisper.

He swallowed again, looking to see the butcher knife lying on the carpet. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the cat walk over and butt the knife toward him. He stared at it, watching it, as the cat padded into the kitchen and leapt onto the counter. He shivered, then jerked when he felt Shaun's hand on his shoulder.

"D-Desmond?" He looked at his friend, who offered a small, concerned smile. "No letting your faith slip now, mate. If anything, a reason to believe more."

He nodded slowly, hesitantly picked up the knife and walked over, feeling, perhaps, slightly safer under the cat's watchful eye. Dinner went off without a hitch, and he actually found himself enjoying the meal as he ate in relative silence with his pal. When he was done eating, Shaun helped him wash and dry the dishes, then walked with him into the bedroom, the cat following along quietly the entire time.

"Hey, Shaun?" Desmond asked as he pulled off his shirt and threw it into his clean clothes pile.

"Yes, Desmond?" his friend responded, setting his glasses off to the side of the mattress on the floor and crawling into the tiny bed.

"Thanks again for being my friend," he murmured, feeling less than manly for saying that, but Shaun did deserve whatever thanks Desmond could give him. "It can't be easy."

"It's… certainly an adventure," Shaun said, looking at him as he climbed into the bed beside him. "But I have firm belief things are going to get better for you."

He said nothing more as he lay down and pulled Shaun close so they could both fit. Nevertheless, when he fell asleep, he could have sworn he heard Shaun singing, "Amazing Grace." And he could feel himself waiting in his dreams, waiting for the terrible nightmares and the exhausting dreams, but they didn't come. Instead, he could see a man with brown hair and piercing golden eyes standing like a guardian. He had white wings and a sword of flames, and Desmond was almost scared shitless, if it hadn't been for the peaceful aura the man seemed to get out. The tiniest hint of an amused smirk played across the man's face, and he blinked.

"Sleep, Desmond. We watch over you."

He could see the entire world fade to black, and when he woke up, he was cuddling with Shaun and feeling, for once, energized and ready to go. He sat up, quickly untangling himself from the guy's hold, and rolled out of bed. He could see the cat sitting in the doorway, and he smiled.

"Hey, buddy."

He needed to get ready for school, and he was lucky he hadn't overslept with school at eight. The cat turned and walked out, and he found himself following it, slightly worried about leaving Shaun alone but knowing that the cat was worth paying attention to. It hopped up on the table, and he grimaced.

"Shit! I don't have any food for you!"

He bit his lip, pacing over to the refrigerator and opening it. He didn't keep much in there aside from the necessities, and even less food that a cat would eat. All of his non-perishables he kept in there to keep the mice from eating them, as well, what little there was. Then he straightened and turned to the cat, blinking.

"You'll eat mice—"

"Don't bother," he heard, and he froze before looking to see a tan-skinned man with black hair and dark brown eyes was standing there _in his apartment_, scowling. "That thing isn't a cat."

He turned to face the man, pressing back against the counter and praying that the man wouldn't kill Shaun, or injure Shaun, because the last thing he needed was to have another kid's medical bills. He swallowed, saying prayers that God would protect him and that he would live to see another day.

"Oh, stop with that shit," the man hissed, stepping forward, and the cat was on its feet, growling softly.

The man glared at the cat, stepping back and snarling. The cat bristled and hissed, and Desmond was paralyzed in his spot.

"You can't fool me," the man spat before glaring at Desmond again, and Desmond could hear himself whimper softly. "Pathetic. And what if I went to attack him right now, hm? Made you get out of that ridiculous skin you're wearing?"

The cat looked like something from a cartoon, its hackles raised and its voice making one continuous hissing whine. The man laughed, plopping down on the table and frowning, looking at him. Desmond was terrified. He just wanted to know what the man wanted so he could either offer it or his life and be left alone. After several minutes of being stared at intensely, he finally found his voice.

"Wh-what do you want from me?"

The man's lips curled into a smirk, and he watched him rise. The man was beautiful and graceful, and he couldn't help but find himself slightly drawn in. The man seemed to know this, and the stranger chuckled quietly. Desmond scrunched back against the counter as the man drew closer, almost tempted to reach out and touch him. He watched the man's eyes glimmer with excitement, almost laughing at him.

"Atta boy, Desmond. You don't want to see me go, do y—"

He blinked, suddenly faced with a large expanse of white. Desmond looked to see the cat was gone from the counter, and then he realized that the white was the dress of a human. He stared, his eyes moving up the back to see a head of short-cropped brown hair like in his dreams. And then he felt the blood from his face drain as he saw a _flaming sword_ planted in front of the man.

"Come no farther, demon."

"Oh, am I so base to you I don't even get a name, feather duster?"

"Call me Altair, creature."

"You wound me."

Desmond stood there, watching. This was the guy in his dreams last night. His name was Altair. And then he realized—

"Where's my cat?"

He saw the first gorgeous man look around him, backing out of reach of the sword and sitting on the table, smirking.

"I told you, kiddo, your cat isn't a cat."

"Huh?"

He looked at the man, unable to help his eyes from trailing over the man's body. He was absolutely stunning. Nevertheless, he found himself stepping forward, pressing against Altair's back as if he were a child hiding as he grabbed a hold of the silken cloth his dress was made of.

"Your cat. He's an angel."

His eyes grew wide when he saw the man produce a cigarette from nowhere and light it with his fingers. He watched him inhale once, then exhale the smoke slowly from his nose, letting it curl up. He made smoking look good.

"Sin. It's my job," the man said, winking at him invitingly. "Call me Malik. I'm sure you'll see me around. Anyway, your little limey bedmate is starting to wake, so I'm going to scram. Talk to you later, Desmond, angel cake."

The man vanished, and Desmond found himself trembling, still clinging to the man in front of him. He felt a little pathetic, and he realized he should just man up because that certainly wasn't the worst thing he's ever gone through, but—

"Desmond, relax. You are safe here."

"Who are you?"

"I am here to protect you, Desmond, in effect, your guardian angel."

"I… I get a guardian angel?"

"Every believer in Christian faith has a guardian angel. Every child, too."

He frowned, and then backed off. "I don't believe that."

"And why not?"

He watched as the "angel" turns around and looked at him, quirking an eyebrow. He scowled.

"Because then there wouldn't be child abuse. _I _wouldn't have gone through child abuse."

The angel paused, blinking once, then frowned and shook his head. "Desmond, there is still much you have to learn."

"What do you mean?"

Altair sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Not every angel wins."

Desmond frowned. He was quiet, staring at the man. He watched the wings he didn't notice before stretching silently, the soft hum of the fridge in the background. He still wasn't sure this was all real, probably conjured up from the deepest depths of mind. He was finally going crazy. Of course the angels would win.

"How does good not win?"

"Wasn't your father taken away from you?"

He jerked slightly, his eyes wide, and then he looked at his feet. He scratched the back of his neck and sighed.

"Yeah. He was."

"In that same vein of thinking, a child dies from abuse when the demon wins."

"So then… Not every angel wins?"

"No."

"Then there's a possibility that you won't win."

There was silence for a long time, and he could see a harden, determined look come over the angel's face. He waited quietly, patiently, watching him with a worried frown on his face because he didn't want to lose the only good thing in his life so far aside from Shaun. And in speaking of which, he could hear his friend shuffling about in the bedroom. Finally, Altair spoke again.

"Yes."

His eyes grew wide, and he inhaled. He didn't want to lose him.

"In a war, there are casualties on both sides. If I lose, I will go down fighting for you, Desmond."

"So then…" he was quiet again, and he heard Shaun pacing about in the only bedroom in the three-room apartment. He started shaking his head, staring at his feet. "Why were you allowed to interfere in the physical world?"

"Because the demon has taken it to a physical domain."

He swallowed, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his guardian angel—that there was an _angel_ in his living room, if even at all the man was real, and really, this was too much for his mind to handle at the moment—could lose, that angels lost all the time, and that there was a war going on around him that he couldn't see. He looked up to find Altair sitting as a cat on his kitchen table. He certainly didn't look like an angel sitting on the table as a cat. He almost wanted to say he was just broken and was finally going psycho. He stared at him for a while, then paced over and petted him gently, shaking his head again. He still didn't entirely understand. There was an angel in his apartment, who allegedly was fighting for him, but the angel might not even win. And allegedly, "God," who he was choosing to throw all his faith behind and already profiting from, had sent him this angel with a flaming sword to stand guard in his life. He needed to have a serious talk with this "angel" later. He was so confused, and it wasn't helping that the angel thought that he might not win. And then he scowled, because he wasn't going to go back to his old life. Already, his life was getting better, no cockroaches in his bed, no malfunctioning fridge, no missing objects, and he still had time for a bite to eat before school.

"No," he said softly before picking Altair up and shaking his head. "I have too much faith in you. You can't lose."

He almost swore he was smiling at him in cat form, and Shaun came pacing into the kitchen, looking at him funny for cradling the cat. He smiled at his friend, holding Altair as best he could, since he had never held an animal before without it clawing up his arms. He could make it, even as Shaun started prattling on about some dream he had. Even if this whole crazy early-morning dream went to shit, he wasn't going to let his life turn back into the pit it was before. As he split a package of Poptarts with Shaun from the fridge as they washed up for school, he found himself worrying that the cat wouldn't follow him, that he was doomed to have a bad day in school. Yet, as wondered aloud to Shaun, who told him to pray, he realized he was going to have to seriously start changing his lifestyle.

When he parted ways with Shaun at the entrance to go to his locker, he kept his head bowed, too entirely accustomed to the parting of the crowds trying to get away from him. He hurried to his locker, surprised when the lock came off on his first try. He blinked, taking a moment to revel in the utter joy that started to bubble in him. Then he remembered what Shaun said in the car, uttered a quiet thanks, and grabbed his books. His lock even locked on the first try and he was off, early to his first period class for the first time.

He wasn't, exactly, thrilled to be in history class, and that was always Shaun's better suit, but he knew he needed to pay attention. He didn't know much about wars, and he most certainly didn't know much about _Heavenly_ wars, but the image of people fighting just over his head was a little disconcerting. He frowned, waiting for class to begin as he thought about why God would even let a war like this go on and wondered if it had something to do with the fact that angel-cat had mentioned that not every angel won. He pursed his lips, watching as the other students filed in and left a ring of empty seats around him. They knew better, too used to having desks breaking or chairs falling apart from under them. They were used to the broken pencils and the leaking ink pens, erasers flying off when he accidentally smacked it with his hand. He sighed. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

**Okay. This is just an idea I'm tampering with in vein with the demon!Malik and angel!Altair thread that went around not too long ago. I started it for the kinkmeme, but I don't know if I should continue this. I figured I'd put it up. Lemme know what you think?**


	3. Of Freewill and Love

**Okay, lemme say this: I in no way advocate that your life will immediately get better if you start believing in God. This happened to pass through my mind as I looked at this chapter. (Oh, dear, I'm not even sure I should be posting this chapter given my level of comprehension right now. Just ignore me.)**

* * *

He was shocked when he climbed into Shaun's car after school and answered his "how was school?" with a "Fine." Even Shaun stopped and blinked, then looked at him before nodding.

"Fine?"

"Yeah… fine."

Shaun hummed, and Desmond blinked as he stared at the road. His day had been fine. He was quiet, reflecting on the day and how his day had been better than most. Only one pencil had broken, he hadn't gotten the worst of the food in the cafeteria. He hadn't lost his eraser today. Of course, it had gone flying across the room and hit the teacher, but the teacher had realized it was him, scowled, and turned back to the lesson. He could have sworn that he heard laughing at one point when it nailed the teacher, but he dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. He needed to speak with that angel, Altair.

Shaun dropped him off at home, where he insisted that he would be fine alone. He darted up the stairs, opened his door—

And saw a man on his couch. He looked slightly like the man—"Demon," his mind whispered—from this morning, but he had blue eyes and a slimmer build. When he was noticed, the man smiled, then winked.

"Hey there, Dessie! You're looking good!"

"Wh-who are—"

He jumped when he saw a large expanse of white in front of him. It must be Altair. He found himself gripping the back of Altair's robes before he knew what he was doing. He briefly wondered just why things happened the way they did in his life. It had to be the curse.

"Aren't you just adorable? Of course, I've been telling my brother that ever since we were sent to take care of your line."

"Be silent, demon, and leave us alone."

"Oh, so you're the angel God sent down. Fascinating. Fine, I'll go. I see your charge has is about to explode with questions, and you may as well answer them. Although him exploding would be funny. Humans make such a mess when they explode. My name's Kadar by the way. My brother is Malik. He was the one that laughed when we flung the eraser at your teacher and beamed in him the head."

His eyes widened, and he watched as the man disappeared before his eyes. Altair straightened and looked at him. He could feel those golden eyes observing him carefully as he tip-toed over to the place where Kadar sat.

"You have questions?"

He swallowed, straightened, looked at the angel, and nodded once. Altair didn't look entirely pleased, but he seemed acceptant of the fact.

"Very well. I can try."

He blinked. "You will?"

Altair sighed. "I will let the Lord guide my tongue, and the answers you receive will be his to choose. When he does not want one answered, he will close my lips."

Desmond nodded and followed him to the two seats in the kitchen. He sat down, a little nervous under the angel's gaze. So, God could just randomly shut Altair's mouth. That didn't sound promising. God was probably already irritated that he was even trying to talk to the angel, if angels weren't supposed to be seen in the first place.

"Do not be afraid. God is good. What is it you wish to know?"

Desmond swallowed once, mustering up the courage and trying to ignore the giant flaming sword on the man's back.

"I… I want to know about the war going on that you talked about earlier."

Altair blinked, then pursed his lips. Desmond could see him thinking about what to say, and finally, he opened his mouth to speak.

"The holy war had been going long before humans were as plentiful as today. It started when Lucifer let himself be corrupted by his own intelligence. The honor of serving our wonderful Creator was not enough. He wanted the power."

Desmond blinked. He couldn't quite grasp the concept of an angel wanting more power.

"So the good Lord cast him out of Heaven, into Hell. Lucifer took his followers with him, and they became his demons. They now roam this earth."

"Then why do you guys fight them if this is where they were sentenced?"

"Because the good Lord commands it. We are to protect his followers."

"Then why doesn't he just… zap away the evil?"

He could see a smile at the corners of Altair's lips. "Because the world was handed over to Lucifer when Adam and Eve bit from the fruit."

"The apple?"

Altair quirked an eyebrow. "Apple?"

"Yeah, the pictures always show apples."

Altair snorted. "Where does it say apple in the Bible?"

Desmond blinked. "I don't know. I haven't read it."

"You should. It's not just a book for pleasure-reading."

Desmond was silent. He knew he should read the Bible, but reading wasn't exactly something he enjoyed. He wondered if it was a sin not to read the book. Then, shaking himself of those questions for a later time, he asked, "Then why doesn't God just poof away the demons if the angel starts to lose?"

"Because then it comes down to faith and repentance. Bad things will always happen, Desmond, to test faith and because this world no longer belongs to God. Just as angels were created with free will, so were humans."

"Why doesn't God take it back?"

"Why fight for what won't come back?"

Desmond blinked. "Why wouldn't they come back?"

"Because evil is fun, Desmond. Remember what the demon this morning said? 'It's my job.' If evil wasn't fun, people wouldn't do it. Why struggle for good, if you can have fun?"

"That makes sense, I guess. Why doesn't he just force them to come back to him?"

"It's not true love if it's forced. He gave them free will and the ability to repent if they want to love him. He won't force them."

Desmond was silent. He looked at his hands, when had ended up on the tabletop at some point. He pursed his lips.

"But we're getting off topic. What else do you want to know about the war?"

He blinked, then bit his bottom lip. "Well… not exactly about the war, but why did God put the fruit there, then?"

"God wanted to give them the freewill to choose whether they wanted to obey him."

"It seems to come back to freewill a lot."

"Desmond," the angel said, resting his elbows on the table, "the whole holy war comes down to freewill. God wanted the angels and mankind to love him out of their own free will. He didn't want a bunch of mindless drones to worship him. He wants those who truly want him to come to him on their own. Lucifer chose to be corrupt on his own: Adam and Eve ate of their own choice. God sends us down to fight for his children on the child's own will."

"So you don't get the choice to fight for him."

"We do, but we fight for him because we choose to. Because we love him. To put it in perspective, he lets us choose what we do—even at the cost of losing us. Evil is the ultimate freewill choice."

Desmond looked up at Altair, staring into his eyes. The gold held a certain warmth, quite the opposite of the hate-filled looks he was used to getting. He pursed his lips, mulling on the idea that the holy war was fueled solely on freewill.

"What else do you wish to know?"

"He doesn't want to know anything else," he heard purred from the doorway, and he looked to see Kadar standing there.

Altair rose, his sword drawn, and Desmond's eyes grew wide. Shit was about to hit the ceiling fan. And then he realized something.

"Why does Lucifer still try to fight God if he knows he'll lose in the end?"

There was silence in the kitchen. Kadar was blinking as if he hadn't heard the question right, and Altair turned to look at him properly. The flaming sword was loose in the angel's grip. He had heard it every time God and the like had come up: Satan would lose to God at the end of time. Finally, Kadar smiled, looking absolutely charming.

"Who said anything about Satan losing?"

Desmond yelped and jumped, running from where he stood, over behind Altair, and hugged the angel tightly around the waist. His skin was crawling. Malik was standing where he had been, laughing at him. So was Kadar. Fortunately, at least, Altair didn't look pleased at all.

"Silence your mouth, wretched creature. The dragon knows he will lose. He's incredibly intelligent."

Malik looked at his nails, one hand on his hip as he hummed disinterestedly. "Yes, he is rather… ingenious." He planted his hand on his hip. "So then, tell us oh high and mighty feather-brain why will he fight if he knows that he will lose?"

He moved his hands to Altair's back, placing them there gently in case he chose to attack. He almost felt guilty hiding behind an angel instead of just facing them himself. But he couldn't win, especially if he followed his hunched and guessed they were the source of his curse.

"That is not for me to know. Perhaps egotistical and delusional go hand-in-hand."

"Oh, you're so informative. You haven't told the poor boy anything that stupid book of yours couldn't," Malik said with a sneer.

Altair snarled, then relaxed his stance as Desmond heard a knock on the door, and he saw another angel appear. This one had long hair, but a similar scar, and a less imposing weapon than a massive flaming claymore.

"Two demons? Looks like you've got a lot on your plate, Altair."

"Ezio?"

"Shit," Malik hissed, and he and Kadar vanished with scowls.

"Go let Shaun in, Desmond," Altair said, placing the weapon on his back.

Desmond looked at the door, hearing another rap followed by a, "Open up, you fucking idiot. I brought you dinner."

"But…"

"Desmond, if you want to know why Lucifer insists on fighting, if someone you loathed told you that you were going to do exactly what he said, would you do it without a fight?"

He blinked as he walked over to the door. If there was someone he hated with all his life, he probably wouldn't bend over without a struggle. He opened the door, saying absentmindedly, "No, I guess not. That makes sense."

Shaun gave him a thoroughly confused look. "What? That you're an idiot?"

"No, no, not that… Something else I was discussing with…" he turned to look, but saw only the cat watching him from the kitchen.

"The cat? You were talking to the cat? Christ, Desmond, you are finally going crazy. Now, will you let me in? I have Chinese."

Desmond's eyes grew wide, and he stepped aside. "You didn't have to!"

"Well, I got a feeling you might want company tonight. And you've never turned me out before."

Desmond smiled. "Course not. I never would."

Shaun carried the food into the kitchen, watching as Altair hopped onto the table. When Altair sniffed the bag as Shaun set them down, his friend pushed him away.

"No, this is not for you. Off the table."

He watched Altair hop off, then eagerly stepped over and watched him unload sweet and sour chicken. Briefly, he entertained the thought that Altair had said he couldn't say why Lucifer would fight. Perhaps, if God could shut a mouth, God could speak through one, too.

"I can't pay you back, you know," he murmured, shaking that line of thought.

"That's okay. I'll live."

He grinned. "Thanks."

"It's no problem, you lug nut. Now, why were you talking to your cat? What was so terribly interesting you couldn't hold it in for a real person?"

"I was asking about Lucifer."

Shaun hummed before saying, "Well now, did he answer?"

"Who?"

"The cat."

Desmond blinked; then, remembering the conversation, he felt a grin creep across his face.

"Yeah. Yeah, he did."

He grabbed a pair of chopsticks and plopped into his seat at the table, ignoring the incredulous look Shaun was giving him as he dug into the chicken, laughing around a mouthful as Altair jumped into his lap and settled down


End file.
